a life, but no quarry
a soul so freakish
And a body so dormant
A Boy Wild about Wild,
Dead of ambitions,
With no thought of Life
Thee called me Yokul.
Was insensitive to incidents around,
took no cognizance of Life and Death,
knew not of Freedom……
And of the Flying birds
Caged was my mind
As were the Nightingales.
Drunk was I, high on cognac,
Cold inside, a mute dweeb.
Lately did it happen
That an Angel passed me by
Singing an Elegy that
made me cry…
It woke me up
from a slumber of lies.
The song lamented,
an old man’s Sigh
Whose only son disappeared in the Sky
for he was killed while catching a fly.
The man’s grief was so high
that the silent tears caused him an eye.
The Angel left a mark in my heart,
of conscience and Pity…..
A life to my wayward body,
of soul and wily,,,,,
It inflicted in me a new enthusiasm
of listening to thy grief,
And empathize with thee
the gleam of thy heart and the cry of thee soul.
My heart could behold none
Hence I began spewing my Spirit.
With the flow of a River
I began to break the Lull.
Marking my Poetic Renaissance
I laced into a Poet’s throat,
Accoutered with a skilled hand
I started pouring out my thought.
« return.